


my own vineyard i had to neglect

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Established Relationship, Infidelity, Javi's Bad Emotional Choices, M/M, PWP, Shotgunning, Smoking, sex in the backseat of a car, that's not a Theme but like... it's happening yknow, way too much thirst in general, way too much thirsty prose about murphy's stupid shoulders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: Murphy grinned at him, then put the cigarette between his lips and dropped his other hand onto Javi’s knee. He drawled around the butt, like a hay-chewing cowboy or a cigar-chomping detective, “Why don’t you go get in the back seat?”
Relationships: Javier Peña/Steve Murphy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 168





	my own vineyard i had to neglect

**Author's Note:**

> For [fahre](https://fahre.tumblr.com/), who inadvertently [prompted me](https://trillgutterbug.tumblr.com/post/610918711289856000/re-murphys-over-shoulder-tie-aesthetic-you-just) after we saw [this gifset](https://trillgutterbug.tumblr.com/post/610895028810809344/ithinkwehitametaphor-narcos-s1e8).
> 
> Title from the fuckin Song of Solomon because... hashtag longing, lads.

It was pretty obvious they’d fucked up. Bad intel, a change of plans on the other end of things, wrong place, wrong time, divine intervention... Javi didn’t know. He’d stopped checking his watch an hour after the meeting time came and went.

“We should have brought more beer,” Murphy said, looking out the passenger window at the drizzling sky. Beyond him, the distant lights of Medellín reflected warm and orange through the evening mist rising off the hills. Javi wondered what was happening down there, if they were missing out on anything more interesting than this boring bullshit. They were too far up the mountain to hear any city noise - or spy any activity, since Javi had forgotten the binoculars. The only distractions were the soft hush of rain on the roof and the jabber of some catcalling animal in the nearby jungle. 

“Yeah,” said Javi absently. They’d had two beer apiece, because that was the maximum Javi considered a smart idea immediately before debriefing a potentially dangerous informant by themselves in the middle of nowhere. They’d drunk them fast too, before they could get warm. The mild buzz had long since worn off.

Murphy sighed, fiddling with a scrap of paper from the dash. It had been transformed, sequentially, into an airplane, a box, and the esoteric suggestion of a bird while Javi told a meandering story about squid jigging in Panama. “Waste of a fuckin’ evening,” Murphy muttered, balling the paper in his fist and throwing it back on the dash. Javi thought he recognized it as a gas receipt he should have handed into the accountants a week ago. “I knew that piece of shit wouldn’t show.”

Javi shrugged, then turned it into a stretch and yawn, extending his arms forward over the steering wheel. His ass had gone numb ten times over at this point; he’d given up trying to wiggle life back into it. But he squirmed around now, fishing a hand into his hip pocket for his lighter. The pack of cigarettes on the dash was just about empty, but he tapped the last one into his palm, smirking at Murphy’s aggrieved look. “Sorry,” he said, tucking it between his lips. “You snooze, you lose, princess.”

Murphy snorted. He’d shucked off his jacket an hour ago, then rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie not long after. The tie sagged from his unbuttoned collar, its blocky geometric print obscured by the growing darkness, the knot cockeyed. Between that and his increasingly shaggy hair, which insisted on falling over his forehead no matter how he pushed it back, he looked more like a rakish office worker than a lethal government agent, the leather strap of his shoulder holster notwithstanding. His hair shadowed his eyes, but not the angle of his smile. “Javi,” he said, indulgently, “if one of us is the princess here, it ain’t me.”

Javi lit up, mumbling, _hey!_, around the butt. He ran around outside and sweated and got dirty and punched people in the face plenty, thanks. He’d gone _squid jigging_. He inhaled and took the cigarette out of his mouth, ready to use it as a prop in the elucidation of his manly qualities, but Murphy reached over and took it from him before he could give it a single illustrative wave.

“Sharing is caring,” he said sweetly over Javi’s protest.

Javi shook his head. He leaned back against the driver’s door, angling his head to blow his lungful of smoke toward the back seat. He watched Murphy take a drag, watched the curve of his wrist and the flexed tendon in his forearm. His white shirt was, like most of his wardrobe, almost fashionably baggy, but it couldn’t quite hide the breadth of his back or the muscle of his arms, not in the lazy quiet like this, not when Javi was attuned to him like a randy alley cat. They were long past the golden hour as far as mood lighting went, but there was nonetheless something thrilling about the shape of Murphy’s cheekbones and shoulders under the illicit cloak of dusk. Javi’s stomach made his admiration known with a giddy clench.

“Those things’ll kill you, you know,” he said, after a moment, in place of anything else. 

Murphy raised his eyebrows, still inhaling, the cherry glowing red under its shawl of lacy ash. When he withdrew the cigarette from his mouth, he held it up, squinting skeptically. “Yeah, maybe. If I’m really fucking lucky." His voice was tight with smoke. It curled out his nostrils on every word. 

Javi didn’t quite laugh, because it wasn’t quite funny, but he did smirk. “Maybe,” he agreed. When he took the cigarette back from Murphy’s offering hand, he made sure their fingertips touched. He knew Murphy noticed, because his lips tucked into a little sideways curl and his shadowed eyes went a bit darker, lashes dipping. Javi could do subtle when he wanted, and he could do obvious, but his favorite was right down the middle. He put some flare into his drag, tilting his head for the angle he knew made his jaw look best, then asked, exhaling, “So what do you figure?” with utterly false casualness. He gestured out the windshield with the cigarette, at the rutted dirt road on which their informant had failed to appear. “Should we officially give up?”

Murphy made a throaty, considering noise. “No...” He stretched an arm up along the back of the seat, extending one leg deeper into the footwell. He was too tall to be folded up in a vehicle like this for so long. He’d been taking strolls around the truck every quarter hour until it started raining. “I think that officially we don't give up for another twenty minutes. Unofficially, though…”

Javi couldn't fight a grin, but he ducked his head and scratched his cheek to obscure it. "Twenty minutes, huh? You think?" 

Murphy shrugged. “Give or take.” Then he threw Javi a sidelong grin of his own. “No pun intended.”

Javi shut his eyes, pained, but still smiling. “Cabrón,” he said under his breath, knowing Murphy would catch it. He cracked his eyes when Murphy touched his elbow. He gave him the cigarette. It was already half finished and Murphy drew on it much longer than was fair, then balanced his wrist on his upcrooked knee to let it burn down even farther. He was just teasing now, Javi was pretty sure. Murphy’s SOP always skewed toward the _obvious_ side of the lane, but that was for expediency’s sake, not lack of ability to improvise. Or so Javi liked to think, anyway. He tried to be an optimist when he could afford it. 

“Well,” Murphy said, in his _Here I go, making a sound and rational executive decision_ voice. “We’ve already missed the flight window back to Bogotá, so we’re in Medellín overnight anyway. We radioed in our status half an hour ago. No one’s expecting to hear from us for another half hour. That restaurant with the good chuleta valluna doesn’t close until ten.” He tipped his chin toward Javi and the cigarette toward the ceiling in a persuading _you see where I’m going with this_ gesture. 

Javi inhaled slowly, tasting the anticipatory tension in the air. They didn’t do this kind of thing all that often, and when they did it tended to be hurried and clandestine, temporally wedged into the span of an off-base lunch hour, or literally wedged into some cramped, unsexy place like a secluded bathroom stall. This kind of flirting, either on the clock or off, rarely came with imminent intent. They were busy men. 

“Got it all figured out, huh?” Javi said. He tipped his head back against the window, sizing Murphy up down the length of his nose like a prospective buyer, pretending as if his dick wasn’t half hard already, as if his mouth wasn’t watering. Sometimes he could bring himself to play a bit hard to get. 

Murphy grinned at him, then put the cigarette between his lips and dropped his other hand onto Javi’s knee. He drawled around the butt, like a hay-chewing cowboy or a cigar-chomping detective, “Why don’t you go get in the back seat?”

Well. ‘Sometimes’ couldn’t be all the time. Embarrassing but true: the Javier Peña story.

“Alright,” Javi said. He reached for the door latch, ignoring the gleeful flash of triumph on Murphy’s face, and clambered out onto the muddy road, then just as quickly in through the side door. The back seat offered a more spacious accomodation than a lot of other vehicles he’d gotten lucky in, which was a major perk of driving a company truck. The seat was wide, the headroom generous, the seatbelt latches not too obtrusive. Basically palatial. He hesitated, then kicked his shoes onto the floor and peeled out of his jacket. 

Murphy was slower to start moving, unbuckling his holster and making a show of checking the revolver’s safety before putting it on the dash. When he got out of the truck, he stood in the rain for nearly a minute, puffing on the cigarette. He was going to finish the fucking thing just to make a point, Javi realized. 

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured, half-admiring. Murphy’s asshole streak was six miles wide on a good day, and it was just a matter of timing whether Javi appreciated that or was inspired to the verge of homicide. Thinking with his dick always made him more forgiving, but by the time Murphy finally flicked away the butt and opened the door, Javi was ready to give him ten different kinds of shit, beginning with _now you’re going to get me soaking wet, asshole_, and ending somewhere around, _you owe me a pack of smokes_. But there was a weird look on Murphy’s face and Javi hesitated. Before he could ask what was going on, Murphy knelt up on the seat, took Javi’s chin between two fingers, and leaned in. Javi realized what was happening only a second before Murphy’s lips touched his. His mouth dropped open, less on purpose and more because he suddenly couldn’t breathe, and he took the lungful of smoke right down. It flooded him. It tasted good, like Murphy’s mouth, hot and damp, thick as fog. It curled out between their lips and from his nose when he groaned. He lifted his hand to Murphy’s jaw to angle him better, so their tongues could slip against each other in the spicy tangle of it, so he could close his teeth on Murphy’s bottom lip and suck. Murphy shuddered, muscling closer to him, his big hands going ravenous on Javi’s neck and chest. 

Then he leaned back, eyes all pupil. “Hold on,” he said, turning around to pull the door shut. His voice was rough, frayed from the smoking and, Javi hoped, the kissing. His own heart was pounding, nerves electrified. When Murphy leaned back in for another kiss, Javi got his fist wrapped in the front of his shirt, holding him in place. He felt Murphy’s hand fumbling around between them, squeezing Javi’s arm and his ticklish ribs and finally finding his waist. Javi reached down to direct his hand where he wanted it, moaning when Murphy obligingly rubbed the heel of his palm tight over Javi’s cock. It was shocky and delicious, like being licked somewhere tender and sore. 

“Shit,” Javi whispered against Murphy’s mouth, trying to arrange himself so he could get his belt undone without unbalancing himself right off the seat. The back of his knuckles brushed Murphy’s hard cock through his pants in the process. He got so distracted furthering investigation along that track that he forgot about his original mission, right up until Murphy grabbed him by the waistband and yanked him flat across the seat. The breath caught in Javi’s throat, his body going taut with excitement. Murphy located his belt for him and worked the buckle one-handed, then with Javi’s blind help. They got it open, somehow. Before Javi could return the favor, Murphy wiggled down his body, peeling Javi’s jeans off as he went. 

Javi stared, wordless, as Murphy braced himself over Javi, his hands confident, his breath loud. It was a big difference from the first time they’d done this - both of them drunk, Javi belligerent with the confused, subverted expectation of rejection, Murphy belligerent for other reasons entirely, both of them too fast and clumsy. It couldn’t have been the first time Murphy touched someone else’s dick, Javi was pretty sure, but he'd been careful not to ask. There was no reticence to Murphy now; he buried his face hungrily in the crook of Javi’s bare hip, mouthing at the bend of Javi’s thigh. It was unbearably ticklish, but Javi was so hard he pushed up into it anyway, petting his trembling palm over the back of Murphy’s damp head. Murphy turned under the touch to scrub the bristly edge of his jaw along Javi’s sensitive hip. 

“_Jesus_,” Javi said, twitching all over. His legs, still tangled in his jeans from the knee down, shook. His mouth was dry, his ears ringing. He rubbed his knuckles into the nape of Murphy’s neck. “You gonna suck me off?”

Murphy hummed. “I was thinking about it.” He said this directly to Javi’s balls, and then, “But now I’m not so sure,” to the head of Javi’s cock, which he slipped into his mouth a second later. 

Javi gasped, bucking up partly because it felt so fucking good and partly to make Murphy hold him down. Murphy was not particularly good at sucking dick, Javi had been dispirited to discover many months ago, but he was wholehearted about it and also prone to throwing his weight around in the process, which were compensatory qualities. Javi liked the way Murphy’s fingers dug into his thighs, into the crest of his pelvis. He liked the weight of Murphy's body on his legs, the sweaty cologne smell of him, how he made little grunting complaints under his breath at Javi's squirming. He even liked the sloppy way Murphy sucked on him. A wet, enthusiastic mouth was a wet, enthusiastic mouth, and Javi groaned his appreciation of it, stroking the back of Murphy's neck to encourage him. One of his favorite things about Murphy going down on him was that it kept his mouth too occupied to ramble on about stupid horny shit that would derail Javi's concentration. But to make up for it, because Javi knew Murphy a lot better than he sometimes liked to admit, he murmured, "That feels really fucking good, oh my God." 

Murphy, always made brashly competitive by Javi's compliments, sucked harder, shoving a hand under Javi's ass to give it a hard squeeze. Javi panted, pushing up into Murphy's mouth. He wanted to spread his legs wider - he wanted to wrap them around Murphy's back. They'd never _fucked_, not actually, and Javi thought they might never, but sometimes Murphy got on top of him and ground down in this particular way that made Javi see God, and he wanted that right now. He tried to say so, tried to wiggle a leg out from between Murphy's to entice him closer, but it was a lost cause. His words came out in a jumble and Murphy didn't budge. What he did do was pull Javi's hips higher and swallow messily around the head of his dick. Javi saw God anyway. And then he saw Murphy push his free hand down the front of his own pants. 

"Fuck," Javi said, with feeling. It was fully dusk outside, and darker in the truck, but it was still easy to see the motion of Murphy's arm as he jerked himself off - the way his shoulder moved, the angle of his elbow, the bend of his neck. Javi pushed the hair off Murphy's forehead, wrapping his fingers in it. "You like it, huh?" he said, teasing, although his voice shook. 

Murphy made a muffled, mumbly noise that vibrated in all the right places. His mouth went slack on Javi's cock for a second, then he pulled off and grabbed his dangling tie, scowling. He tossed it over his left shoulder. “In my fuckin’ way,” he muttered, and went back down. Javi threw a hand up to brace himself on the door, swearing. He worked his hips in short, sharp circles, only as much as Murphy's weight and grip would allow. He was already getting really fucking close, goaded by that ragged catch in Murphy’s voice and his vulgar sucking, by the tight quarters, by the urgency, by the touch of twilight on Murphy’s lovely cheekbones, by all the exhilarating reasons that had made sleeping with his married partner in the first place seem like a good idea. He watched Murphy's arm move, thinking about getting his own mouth down there, how maybe after he came he could get Murphy to climb up and fuck his face, pull his hair, choke him a bit - Ah, shit.

"Hey, I'm, I'm gonna - " Javi ground out, digging his fingernails into the door handle. Murphy pulled off with a slick gasp, coughing. He shoved Javi's shirt up his belly, then wrapped his hand around Javi's cock and started jerking him. "Ah, you _asshole_," Javi said, dismayed by how good it felt. He shut his eyes against the sight of both Murphy's arms moving in tandem. He held his breath, every muscle in his body ratcheted tight, until the world narrowed to a single dark pinprick. Murphy said, breathless, “C’mon, Javi,” and the damp hunger in his voice was enough. Javi came all over his own stomach, feeling the warm splash of it only distantly. He went dumb and insensible with pleasure for a long moment, riding the coaxing twist of Murphy’s hand, and only belatedly became aware of Murphy leaning over him. He wrenched his eyes open, shuddering, as Murphy let go of him and tore open his own pants. Javi watched him draw out his cock, watched him brace himself on the seat by Javi’s shoulder, and was still too slow on the uptake. “What are -” he began, slurred, but it was too late. Murphy sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes fixed on Javi’s bare, wet stomach, and then shot his load right there, right where Javi already had. 

Javi let his his head fall back. “Jesus Christ, Steve,” he panted at the roof of the truck. “Are you shitting me?”

Murphy only made a snarling, bullish noise, his come slicking hot across Javi’s soft abs and into his navel and up onto his shirt. His back was bowed, his head dropped forward. His arm shook against Javi’s shoulder as his breath caught and rushed. Javi struggled up on one elbow to kiss him, despite himself. Despite Murphy, for that matter. They kissed deep, greedily. Even half-dazed, Murphy was a good kisser. Javi felt as if his whole body was a lever, the place where their tongues touched a fulcrum. Together, they slotted reality back into place. 

Eventually, Murphy drew away, his damp forehead touching Javi’s as he got his bearings. When his breath evened out, he looked down between them at Javi’s soaked belly. His teeth flashed. 

“Shut up,” Javi muttered. He touched at himself with a rueful hand, then looked at his wet palm. “Proud of yourself?”

Murphy said, “Generally, yeah.” He sat back on his heels, still straddling Javi’s legs. He looked objectively goofy, pants still open and dick out, tie over his shoulder, his hair a disaster, but Javi only felt an affectionate cramp of longing at the sight. It was a dangerous sensation, one that manifested far too often and sometimes made him feel sick when he indulged it head-on. 

He shook himself. “That wasn’t twenty minutes.”

Murphy snorted. He started wrestling his pants up. “Well, whose fault is that?”

“Objectively yours,” said Javi. “You still want to go get chuleta valluna?”

Murphy hummed an affirmative. “Yeah. Well, what I really want is another smoke, but I guess we’re both shit outta luck on that one.” He fastened his fly, then started trying to drag Javi’s jeans back up while still sitting on them. 

Javi pushed his hands away. “That’s not helping. Get out.” 

Murphy grinned. He raked his hair back, then leaned forward to kiss Javi again. “I have the best ideas,” he said against Javi’s mouth. 

Javi rolled his eyes, shoving him toward the door. “You’re a jackass,” he corrected, but they both knew he mostly didn’t mean it. Murphy opened the door and clambered out of the truck, chuckling. Javi pulled his pants up, then looked at his sticky stomach. It was too dark to tell for sure, but his shirt was probably a mess. He’d have to wear his jacket zipped up for the rest of the evening, anyway. He sighed. 

Outside, silhouetted against the purple sky, Murphy was taking a big luxuriant stretch, his face tipped up into the soft rain. He said, with his eyes closed, “Come on, Javi, don’t keep me waiting.”

Javi hesitated, then pulled his shirt down. It didn’t really matter. The damage was already done.

**Author's Note:**

> just an fyi, this fic was called _dickmatized by trade: the javier peña story_ in my gdocs.


End file.
